Words of Command (Hervey 12) (Matthew Hervey) (12 page)

‘The troop is posted, Colonel,’ said Kennett, with no very great enthusiasm.

Hervey found himself irritated. ‘What do they have to eat?’ he asked abruptly (and not entirely reasonably, for Kennett might have been allowed that his only thought to this time had been how to dispose his men).

‘I … I don’t yet know, Colonel.’

‘Do they have biscuit issued?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t say, Colonel.’

‘But you yourself will be feeling the pinch of appetite?’

Kennett failed to see to what the question tended. ‘Oh, no, thank you, Colonel, for I brought with me some chicken and a veal pie.’

‘Did you indeed,’ was all that he heard by reply, as Hervey moved off in pointed silence.

Malet’s voice followed. ‘Mr Kennett, the favour of your attention if you will …’

The adjutant’s ‘if you will’ – admonition cloaked with civility. Hervey kicked into a trot; there was no need to hear Malet’s precise ‘words of advice’.

‘I fancy the veal pie has suddenly become less appetizing,’ said Fairbrother when they were out of earshot.

‘You know, Worsley’s a man of ten times Kennett’s consequence but I’ll warrant he’ll be the last to eat today.’

‘I don’t doubt it.’

‘Mind, between Rennie and Collins, none of them shall starve for long.’

Malet rejoined them a few minutes later. Hervey knew it was beneath his dignity to enquire of the ‘interview’, but couldn’t resist the raising of an eyebrow.

‘Whether or not a true penitent, I can’t rightly say, Colonel; but at this moment he’s pondering on the miracle of the loaves and fishes. The troop shall taste veal pie, if but a very little.’

Hervey smiled to himself. Subtlety was much to be prized in an adjutant when the lash was no option.

They stopped at each vidette in turn for a few words: Kennett had at least posted them soundly, a furlong apart, patrolling left to right, and they seemed to know what they were about – twelve in all, half an hour to ride the length of the cordon.

As they neared the junction with the lane that ran north-west to south-east, forming the right-hand boundary of the ‘bag’ (which was patrolled with economy rather than picketed, for the intelligence suggested the miscreants had made off west towards Ascot), Serjeant-Major Collins came up from the south-west.

‘Drawn blank, Sar’nt-Major?’

‘Aye, Colonel, but handily I’d say – maybe. The snow’s turned over a good deal all over the place, awkward to follow any track, but there’s nothing at all towards yon cordon save for the odd deer. They haven’t got west of Maiden’s Green, not across the fields at any rate.’

‘I suppose they might have come in the first place along the road, which would account for the virgin snow. There’d be nothing to stop them if their faces weren’t known hereabout …’

‘The farmer was very exact about them making west, Colonel. He said he watched them as far as the wood beyond his home pasture. But he has sheep all over that way, and I couldn’t pick up anything. They’re not in the wood still, I’m sure of that. But they won’t be short of cover, and they can try and slip away once it’s dark and they know where the patrols are.’

Hervey nodded. If they were going to get a company of infantry from Windsor, the bag had better be tight-drawn during the night. ‘Come, let’s find your captain.’

They cantered down the lane to the Winkfield road and on to the rendezvous at St Mary’s church. Smoke from the barn was settling in the hollows, and one or two braver village souls were going about their last-light business, none of them giving the remotest impression of complicity with the incendiarists, though there was no knowing – there was no time to know – in what regard they held the farmer.

Worsley was there already, coming down the tower on seeing them approach, and with a resolute if frustrated look. ‘We can’t have been thirty minutes behind them, at most; yet not a sign.’

‘’Cept Sar’nt-Major Collins says they haven’t crossed the road west, for sure.’

‘Ah, then you do think it worth fetching infantry from Windsor?’

Hervey nodded decidedly. ‘I do. I’ll go there directly.’

‘In that case I’ll put the cordon on a longer footing – with your leave?’

‘By all means. Where will you plant your pennon?’

‘Here, Colonel. There’s a beer-house yonder I’ve had Serjeant Bancroft look to. It has a good copper, if Mr Rennie can bring us any meat. There’s corn at the farm which seems to have escaped the flames.’

‘Depend on it. But have Jenkinson call on the manor too. They’re bound to have hay. Has the parson come by? He ought to have useful intelligence.’

‘He’s abroad. There’s a curate. He’s gone to fetch the parish map.’

‘Very well. I’ll return, if I’m favoured, by midnight. The moon’s young, but it’s bright – or it was last night.’

‘Indeed. We may try a little earth-stopping,’ said Worsley, with a wry smile.

‘Capital. Come, then, Malet; let’s see how many guardsmen the King will spare us.’

Malet was only pleased he was not asked his opinion.

Five miles, perhaps six, horses now tiring and the night descending rapidly – Hervey took it at a trot, but even so, his charger lost a shoe (it was as well there’d be farriers and new horses at Windsor). An hour, just under – in these conditions, a forced march.

He went straight to the barracks in Sheet Street, which was neither a salubrious quarter nor in any way a pleasing example of the builder’s art (he silently gave thanks for his own situation at Hounslow), and was surprised to be told that the commanding officer was at orderly room, even at the late hour of five o’clock.

But then, Lieutenant-Colonel Ralph Calthorp, commanding the Grenadier battalion, was no mere ‘court guardee’, and was at once animated by the appearance of the lieutenant-colonel of light dragoons come in from the snow with a call to arms. He likened it indeed to the alarm before Waterloo – if to Hervey’s puzzlement, for Waterloo was hardly yesterday, though on learning that they had both slept on that sodden ridge before the battle, he was all sureness, and the lieutenant-colonel of Grenadiers all impatience to assist.

‘But I cannot move a single man from his post without the authority of the King himself,’ explained Calthorp, seizing up his hat and greatcoat. ‘Come with me to the castle. We’ll seek out the King’s secretary.’

They went on foot – and a dreary, slushy, unedifying march it was, the gaslight illumining many a sight that was better unlit. But it was a short march at least, and there was no challenge from the succession of sentries as they proceeded up the bailey past St George’s Chapel to the state apartments, only the presenting of arms as the orderly serjeant scurried ahead with ‘Colonel coming!’

A plain, unguarded door admitted them to a crypt-like space through which they marched unhindered to a stone staircase which ascended to a vaulted chamber devoid of any furniture or ornament, and on through featureless passages ill-lit by oil lamps, and then a further unremarkable door which suddenly admitted them – quite to Hervey’s surprise – into a suite of well-appointed rooms that looked bathed in limelight, occupied by what he took to be clerks.

‘Sir William,’ commanded Colonel Calthorp tersely, without checking his stride.

A footman sitting by a gilded door sprang to his feet and opened it.

The colonel continued the motion into the room beyond. ‘Knighton, have you the ear of His Majesty at this moment? I wish to remove a company of my guards to apprehend a party of felons – nay, insurrectionaries – in the park.’

Sir William Knighton, His Majesty’s private secretary, looked up as if it were the most regular of requests. ‘His Majesty at this time gives audience to the prime minister.’

Calthorp frowned. ‘I didn’t expect an audience myself, Knighton. I fancy a scrip from you will be sufficient for the Lord Chief Justice, if it comes to law. Oh, this is Colonel Hervey of the light dragoons at Hounslow. It’s his men who’ve run the miscreants to earth.’

Sir William, who bore a passing resemblance to his principal in the days before the pleasures of the table had wrought such destruction with the royal figure, rose and offered his hand.

Hervey took it and explained the events of the afternoon.

Before the crown secretary could make reply, however, the door to the audience room opened and the King himself appeared, and behind him the Duke of Wellington.

‘Your Majesty,’ cued Sir William.

They all bowed.

The King seemed alarmed. ‘Colonel Calthorp, is the time come?’

‘Your Majesty?’

‘Is it the time? Is the guard ready for inspection?’

A faintly consolatory look came to Colonel Calthorp’s face. ‘Presently, sir.’

‘Your Majesty, may I present Colonel Hervey of the light dragoons at Hounslow,’ tried Sir William, concerned to pass over the apparent misunderstanding.

‘Yes, yes, I dined with him there not a month ago.’

Hervey could not but observe his sovereign with pitying horror – a florid, bloated figure in a lurid dressing gown, his hair awry, his eyes agog, his mouth dribbling; a man of no great age but dilapidated beyond his years. He was never more relieved to see the duke than now, for so abject a ruler must be in need of the wisest of counsel.

‘Your Majesty, if I may,’ he replied, ‘I am just returned from Constantinople.’

The King turned to his prime minister. ‘Arthur, do you know this man? An excellent fellow. He keeps the finest table of all my Guards.’

‘I do indeed know Colonel Hervey, sire. An officer of commendable zeal.’

‘Were you at Waterloo, Colonel?’ asked the King, becoming animated once more.

‘I was, sir.’

‘Did you see me lead the charge of the cavalry? Was it not the greatest of affairs?’

Hervey, bewildered, glanced at the duke for some sign, but saw none. ‘For the most part I was on the left flank, sir, until later in the day, by which time the heavies had made their charge.’

‘Ah,’ said the King, dejectedly. ‘But you saw it, Arthur. I led them straight at the French, did I not?’

‘I have often heard Your Majesty tell me so.’

‘Well, well … Shall you dine with us, Colonel?’

‘Sir, I am come to ask release of a company of Your Majesty’s Guards to search an area to the south of your park where I believe my dragoons have cornered a party of incendiaries.’

His Majesty’s countenance changed. He was at once fearful, but yet defiant. ‘They have set fire to my farms?’

‘Not to Your Majesty’s farms, sir, but to a barn of a yeoman farmer at Winkfield.’

‘Alarum! What, ho! – no watch? no passage? Murder! Murder!’

‘Sir?’

The King was now exceedingly agitated. ‘You must by all means have my Guards – all of them, and my Horse Guards too. Hunt out these devils. Strike them down! Spare them not. No quarter! You understand, Hervey? Every one of them put to the sword!’

Hervey stood awkwardly, at a loss for words.

‘Your Majesty,’ said the duke, kindly but firmly, ‘you may trust that Colonel Hervey will do his duty.’

‘I shall depend on it, Arthur. And I shall reward him well for it too. And these miscreants, these base fellows who would burn barns within sight of my own castle, they shall be executed and their heads placed on poles on London Bridge.’

‘I am sure the justices will do their duty too, sir,’ said the duke, calmly. ‘But, with Your Majesty’s leave, I would have a word with Colonel Hervey before he goes to his.’

‘Of course, Arthur, of course. You must give your orders for the coming battle, make your dispositions and so forth. I myself shall tour the line when it is daylight. But no cheering, Hervey; I’ll have no cheering. Damned Jacobin thing. They cheered Bonaparte before Waterloo. I heard their beastly roar.’

‘Indeed, Your Majesty,’ replied Hervey, bowing as the King turned and took his leave.

‘I bid you good night, Arthur. You will avail yourself of sleep, mind. A near-run thing it may be tomorrow.’

‘Indeed, Your Majesty. Good night.’

When the door was closed, the duke turned his gaze on Hervey. ‘His Majesty is not himself today. I hardly need tell you, I trust, that his exhortation to slaughter must go unheeded. Transportation will serve as well, if the death penalty is commuted.’

‘Quite so, sir.’

‘But your reply to the King – the charge and all: it was nicely done.’

Hervey bowed.

The duke now turned to the crown secretary. ‘Well, Knighton, I must return sharp to Whitehall. I shall come again on Friday.’

‘Very well, Prime Minister. I’m sure His Majesty will be much recovered then.’

‘Physicking him, are you?’

Sir William Knighton had formerly been the King’s physician, when he was the Prince of Wales, and was thought by many to administer powders still, as well as advice. ‘No, duke, I no longer practise. Sir Wathen Waller attends His Majesty.’

‘Mm.’ The Duke of Wellington nodded his farewells, picked up his cloak and stalked out to his chariot.

Sir William sat down, looking decidedly troubled. ‘Gentlemen, I perhaps hardly need say that I must rely on your absolute discretion. His Majesty has been unwell, and in consequence of his medicaments can become … excited.’

‘Of course, Knighton,’ said Colonel Calthorp. ‘We are all His Majesty’s loyal servants.’

Hervey nodded.

‘Very well. You have His Majesty’s leave to search for this gallows-fodder with a company of Foot Guards, or indeed with as many as may be expedient. I shall make a formal minute of it if you wish.’

Calthorp looked at Hervey for a reply.

‘I think it unnecessary, in the circumstances.’

‘Very well. May I offer you some hospitality?’

‘For my part, I thank you, but no,’ said Hervey, much as it would have pleased him to say ‘yes’. ‘We must see to matters and then return to Winkfield.’

Sir William bowed. ‘I believe His Majesty would appreciate an account of events, when the work is done. You may render that in writing, Colonel Hervey, but I believe it would greatly please His Majesty if you were to make your report in person.’

Hervey nodded. ‘I shall do my utmost to comply with the latter.’

And they left the castle with as little ceremony as they had come.